


Enjoy The Silence

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has absolutely zero experience in what to do when one of those straight boys possibly maybe turns out to be not so straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoy The Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season One. Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community for the prompt "stranded"

Glenn sits in the passenger seat and scans the tree-line for walkers, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh. The only houses they pass are set well back from the road, the only cars deserted hulks on the pitted shoulder. He can hear the boxes they’d loaded in the back shifting with every lurch of the truck, the rattles and clunks from the old pick-up loud in the silence as it makes its way laboriously down the rutted dirt path. They’re moving too slowly for Glenn’s liking, but the road is rough and uneven from the recent rains and Daryl keeps glancing at the gauges, as though his irritated glaring will fix the suspension and give them a little more speed while he’s at it.

They’ve gone two miles when Glenn can’t take the quiet any longer.

“You ever notice,” he says, “that every single time I take someone with me on a supply run, it all goes to shit?”

It’s only when Daryl’s hands tense on the wheel that he remembers just exactly what happened on that last supply run to Atlanta. When he flashes on that day the first thing that always comes to mind is the stench of walker guts on his clothes and the mad dash through the herd of geeks in the rain. But before that there was the crunch of Merle’s fist, the wink of sunlight on the handcuff when Rick took him down. And while the loss of Merle isn’t exactly lamented by anyone in the group, he is Daryl’s brother – probably the last of his family, for all Glenn knows, Daryl hasn’t exactly been forthcoming on the specifics of his kith and kin – and blood runs thick and Daryl really must have loved the guy despite all his shortcomings and geeez he should just learn to enjoy the silence and keep his damn mouth shut. 

He winces, bites at his bottom lip, side-glances Daryl behind the wheel and fully expects the dude to lash out. But after a moment Daryl just lets out a breath, flexes his fingers and shrugs. “We got what we went for,” he says.

“Sure,” Glenn agrees, glancing over his shoulder at the boxes of canned food, “after detouring around a five-car pile-up – what the hell were five cars doing on some back road that’s barely a smudge on the map, anyway? – and nearly getting taken down by a dozen geeks at that Mobil station—“

“I had your back,” Daryl interrupts quickly, no doubt remembering the rush of them, staggering grey-faced and bloody from behind the gas station in groups of twos and threes. They were fast, _fresh_ – it occurs to him only now with sickening certainty that those walkers were what remained of the poor bastards from the pile-up – and it was only Daryl’s quick reflexes with the crossbow that saved him from a bite in that initial headlong rush.

“Yeah, you did,” Glenn says. He slams a palm on the dashboard when the truck lurches erratically, takes another glance up at the darkening sky. “But all of that put us way behind. We’re gonna lose the light soon. I don’t like the thought of trying to make our way back after dark.”

“Then you’re gonna love this,” Daryl says as the truck yaws again, then rolls to a lumbering stop. “We’re outta gas.”

“Hah. Funny,” Glenn says. His eyes widen when Daryl merely turns to him to look at him blankly. “You’re not kidding? We’re out of _gas_?”

“’s what I said.” 

For a moment Glenn feels frozen. He forces himself to take a breath. The road is deserted as far as his eye can see, and there’s no rustling in the trees that indicates a geek is nearby. They’re going to be fine. 

“You know,” he says after a moment, “this is like… a movie.”

“Horror movie,” Daryl grunts out.

“No,” Glenn answers. “Well, yeah. But I was thinking more like... when a couple is driving along and the hero pretends to run out of gas on the deserted road so they can… you know what? Never mind.”

“What? So they can make out?”

Glenn can feel the blush rising to his skin, and prays that it’s already gotten too dim within the vehicle for Daryl to notice. He stares fixatedly out the windshield, watches the sky darken with every breath he takes, and fervently wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him. Or for a walker to attack. This would be a great time for a walker attack. “Just forget I said anything.”

“You wanna make out?”

“What? No!” Glenn swears he’s gone through puberty, he really has, but his voice comes out in a squeak regardless. He risks a glance at the driver’s seat, expecting to see a knowing smirk on Daryl’s face. Glenn knows he’s never been good at hiding his emotions; high school was hell for that very reason, his crushes on every straight boy telegraphed plainly on his face for everyone to see. For everyone to mock. There’s no reason to expect this to be any different.

But Daryl’s merely regarding him quizzically, head cocked to one side. 

“No?” Daryl repeats. He shrugs, turns away to reach for the shotgun mounted on the rack. “Fine.”

“Okay. Wait,” Glenn says. It’s only when Daryl hesitates in checking the chamber that he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blinks, tries to get his rapid-fire thoughts in order. “It’s just… I mean… there’s walkers and we’re stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere and we’re risking our lives just sitting here—“

This time Daryl does grin. “So you _do_ wanna make out.”

Glenn makes a noise that he’s sure he’s only ever seen written out in comic books, and Daryl’s smile only gets wider. 

Glenn’s always been proud of himself for being logical, being analytical. He couldn’t ever stop himself from wanting those straight boys, but he could always understand that they were hopeless crushes, doomed to bring him only misery. When he started noticing Daryl at the camp, he was sure this was just one and the same, just history repeating itself. Except this time his crush wasn’t the captain of the debate team with sandy blond hair and perfect teeth, but a rough-hewn redneck with calloused hands and eyes that would never meet his. Even afterward – after the nursing home, after the failed search for Merle – when Daryl started listening to him, looking at him like he mattered, he still didn’t think anything could ever come of it.

He has absolutely zero experience in what to do when one of those straight boys possibly maybe turns out to be not so straight.

He realizes that Daryl is still waiting for an answer that doesn’t consist of random vowel sounds, and he forces his gaze from the windshield to meet Daryl’s eyes. 

“Don’t tease me,” he says. He expects the words to come out forceful and strong, but they barely escape his lips, just a whisper in the deepening gloom. 

“Not teasin’,” Daryl replies.

When he moves in, he moves slow, giving him time to back out, to say _hah, I thought you were kidding, dude_. And if he did, he knows Daryl would back off and never speak of it again. 

He only relaxes when Daryl’s lips meet his, warm and chapped. The kiss is slow and soft, almost chaste. It’s only when he places his hand on Daryl’s chest and feels the brisk beating of Daryl’s heart beneath his palm that he realizes that Daryl is just as nervous as he is. The realization gives him the courage to deepen the kiss, to let Daryl press him against the passenger door, to ignore the way the handle is digging into his ribcage and focus on Daryl’s rapid breathing, the clutch of Daryl’s fingers at his waist, the way everything feels perfect and safe and right.

When they part, both of them are breathing heavily. Glenn licks his lips, notes the way Daryl’s eyes skim quickly to them and away. He looks at his fingers, resists the urge to touch his face, to see if his lips are as kiss-swollen as they feel. The silence feels heavy, and despite the fact that they only kissed Glenn is reminded of those few morning-afters he’d had in college, when he just never knew what to say when all was said and done.

This, he realizes, is another of his downfalls. When he should keep his mouth shut, he opens it and blurts out the wrong thing. And when he should speak, he doesn’t have a fucking clue what to say.

“Um,” he says. 

“C’mon,” Daryl only replies, opening the door and swinging down into the muck. He snags his crossbow from the floorboard, slings it onto his back. “We passed an old chevy ‘bout half a mile back. See if we can siphon some gas ‘fore we lose all the damn light.”

Daryl’s a good fifty feet down the road before Glenn manages to catch up. He nudges Daryl with his shoulder, gets a flickering smile and a nudge in return.

Midway to the chevy, he says quietly, “I like when you don’t tease me.”

He catches Daryl stealing glances at him as they walk through the twilight. 

Daryl meets his eyes when they reach the battered old car, moves in slowly to push him against the door. This time there’s no door handle bruising his ribs, just Daryl’s hands resting lightly at his waist and Daryl’s dick pressing heavy against his thigh. When Daryl shifts his attention to his throat, Glenn lets his head fall back and closes his eyes.

Everything really is going to be fine, he realizes. He doesn’t have to say anything at all.


End file.
